


When the Lights Are All Out

by verger_de_pommiers



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Coney Island is a splash zone (the Steve's vomit kind), Flashbacks, Fluff, Genral winter soldier sadness, Light Angst, Love, M/M, Not Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Compliant, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Sad with a Happy Ending, Trauma, partying like it's 2014, protec and attac
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-12
Updated: 2019-07-12
Packaged: 2020-06-27 05:50:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19784548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/verger_de_pommiers/pseuds/verger_de_pommiers
Summary: ‘H-hello,’ Steve croaked.Bucky said nothing, just stared. Then he lay back on the bed and closed his eyes.





	When the Lights Are All Out

He couldn’t run in the day anymore. It felt too jolly, running with the sun warming his skin. Thoughts would tumble into his head: I hope Bucky’s warm, I hope the sun’s shining for him too. Then he would have to stop to breathe and wipe his eyes. This was the truth: Steve had failed to find him. And, more and more, it seemed to be that Bucky didn’t want to be found. If that was so, nothing in the world could make Steve continue searching. He wanted Bucky to be happy and if getting chased by a big blonde idiot wasn’t going to make Bucky happy then Steve would just have to stay home.

So he ran in the dark. 

\----

He knew something was wrong the instant he stepped through the door. Carefully, he put his keys on the table and eyed his shield, which sat in the corner. Steve could have sworn he’d left it facing out. Now it was listing slightly to the left. 

The room was clear, lights still off, and the shadows from the trees outside danced across the floor in the glare of the streetlights. His bedroom door was slightly ajar and he knew for certain that he had left it closed: he couldn’t stand open doors. 

Through the darkness he could see a lump on the bed and the glint of metal. He gasped, then closed his mouth. His mind went completely blank, like a wind-storm had blown right through it. Weapon. Yes. He had a gun somewhere. Knife too. He breathed. No. He didn’t want to fight. Instead he shuffled closer to his bedroom door and waited for his eyes to adjust. 

Bucky was on the bed. He lay curled up on his side, shoes still on, his scruffy hair covering most of his face.

Steve stepped out again. He had no idea what to do. He made his way over to the kitchen table and sat there, staring at the wall. Every few moments he turned back, just to make sure. He wouldn’t be surprised if he had gone mad and was just seeing things.

A ruffling sound had him off the stool and looking back into his bedroom. Bucky had sat up, bleary eyed, and was staring at him. His eyes looked preternaturally large in the light. 

‘H-hello,’ Steve croaked. 

Bucky said nothing, just stared. Then he lay back on the bed and closed his eyes. After a moment the silence filled with the sound of soft snoring. Steve watched slack-jawed. Instead of returning to the table he made his way over to the sofa. His mobile was on the side-table and he grabbed it, checking the time, 12:01, and then scrolling through his contacts. His thumb hovered over Sam’s number. If he was going to tell anybody, it would be Sam, but something held him back. He tapped his teeth together and then pocketed the phone. Sliding down into the cushions, he propped his chin up on his hand and watched the open door. 

\-----

His chin hit the arm of the sofa and he startled awake. In a panic he was on his feet and at the threshold of his bedroom. Bucky was still there. The sun had risen and was shining through his long hair, over his pale cheeks and into the rivets of his metal arm. Steve’s stomach growled. He itched the back of his neck and stepped away, heading for the kitchen. He knew that there was nothing in and that he would have to go to the shops if he wanted any breakfast. Lately, he had been incapable of thinking ahead, going to the shops everyday rather than stocking up in advance. He regretted that more than ever now. He sighed and looked over his shoulder. Bucky was still sleeping. 

Well, he couldn’t stay forever and, in any case, when Bucky woke up, Steve wanted to be able to offer him food. He looked in serious need of it. 

Outside, birds sang in the swaying trees and the streets were packed with smiling faces. The air felt light and soft. He had put a baseball cap on and pulled his hood up, still a person of interest, but he wore shorts, his legs bare, and for a moment of sheer insanity he felt like skipping. Small pockets of time lay in scent and touch and sound, hanging there amidst the streets of New York. He could be walking along, then suddenly he would smell burning bread or freshly mowed grass and he would be back in Brooklyn, back in time to when he was small, a child skipping through the park, little hand in his mama’s. Sometimes he’d hear a laugh or the crackle of a radio being tuned and he’d be in his tiny little apartment laid on the floor surrounding by charcoal smudged pages and Bucky would be lounging beneath the window with a book in his hand and a grin on his face. His eyes were so bright and blue. 

‘Hello, Steven.’

‘Hello Mr Asarian,’ he said as he closed the shop door behind him. 

‘What happened?’ said Mr Asarian, reaching for a freshly baked loaf of seeded bread. 

‘Hah?’ said Steve, eyes travelling over the meat behind the counter.

‘You look happy.’

Steve glanced up. ‘I do?’

‘I never seen you look like that. So, what was it? You meet a girl?’

Steve chuckled, shook his head. He tried to get his mouth to stop smiling. It was dumb. By the time he got back, Bucky could be gone. Truth be told, he still hadn’t ruled out this whole thing being a crazed delusion. 

‘Well whatever it is, I’m glad to see that smile on your face.’

Had he been such a sorry sight? You look bloody awful, Peggy had said when he had gone to visit her two days ago.

‘Thanks Pegs,’ he’d said. She patted his hand. 

‘Honesty is a gift. Perhaps you’d like to return it.’

Too perceptive. He shouldn’t have come. He didn’t want to know that she already knew.

‘Did you watch the news?’ he said.

She looked confused for a moment and he braced himself, then she said, ‘The bridge…’

He nodded, eyes on his wringing hands. ‘There was a man…,’ he said, but couldn’t finish.

‘It was him wasn’t it?’ she said. Her voice was full of tears, but her eyes remained dry. Stiff upper lip till the end, old Pegs. ‘I always…always th-thought it was him. But they didn’t believe me. They…shut me out, wouldn’t let me on the missions anymore.’ 

He gripped her hand tight.

‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘Don’t say that. And get that look off your face,’ she sighed.

‘I don’t know what to do Peggy.’

‘I’ll tell you what to do,’ she said. ‘Disregard any and all advice, opinion, and order you get. Excepting mine of course.’

‘What do you-’

‘You don’t have to be Captain America you know. You don’t have to do what everyone else thinks is right.’

‘Steve?’ Mr Asarian was staring at him. 

‘Huh? Sorry,’ he said, and took the packages that Mr Asarian was trying to hand him. 

\-----

When he opened the door, Bucky was on the other side. Steve managed not to jump out of his skin.

‘Hey’, he said, raising the packages. ‘You hungry?’

Hope bloomed in his chest at the slight hitch in Bucky’s jaw. He slowly stepped forwards and Bucky stepped back. The door closed and Steve felt Bucky’s eyes on him all the way to the kitchen counter. They did not leave his back as Steve opened the packages and put a pan on the stove. As he laid the bacon out on the pan, he felt like a storm was brewing in his chest, like he would choke on this feeling he didn’t have the words for. There was a scraping noise against the floor and he forced himself not to turn back till he reached for the butter and could feign a casual glance over his shoulder. Through his peripherals he could see that Bucky had pulled up a chair.  
He wanted to dance. He wanted to sing. He wanted to scream at the top of his lungs. 

He also wanted Bucky to stay, so he didn’t do any of those things and kept on flipping the bacon. When the bacon sandwiches were cooked and on plates and the orange juice had been poured, he passed a plate to Bucky and pulled up his own chair. Bucky tucked right in, but his eyes never strayed from Steve’s hands. 

The relief at seeing Bucky eat almost made him blind, at not seeing him as he had in his dreams; drenched to the bone and covered in snow, falling falling falling, caked in blood, trapped, hungry, scared, alone. Surreptitiously, Steve tried to check Bucky for signs of injury.

Bucky had always been secretive, quick to lie. He’d been prone to long silences and periods where he couldn’t do anything but lie in bed. Steve was used to it. But now Steve wanted to know everything, where he had been, who he’d seen, what he’d been doing, had he been safe, eating, had anyone tried to come after him. Instinctively, though, Steve knew he had to keep a lid on it. If Bucky wanted to tell, then he would tell. If he didn’t, then that was just fine. 

‘How’d you know where I live?’ he blurted out instead. Bucky froze, half the sandwich in his mouth, and met Steve’s eyes. A long moment of silence stretched out. 

Bucky’s eyes snapped back to Steve’s hands, and slowly he resumed eating. When he had finished, he stared back at Steve and Steve jolted out of his seat and put more bacon on the stove. Bucky waited silently, knocking back his glass of orange juice, and then stretched his arms out for his restacked plate of food. 

_I love you_.

Steve blinked at himself and turned away to the window. In the park opposite, he saw a group of kids throwing a Frisbee back and forth. A scraping sound turned his head. Bucky had moved his plate. 

‘Full?’ Steve asked. Bucky got up and went into the bedroom. Steve followed, standing on the threshold and watching as Bucky stripped himself of his weapons. He placed them all carefully in a line on the bed, then glanced at Steve expectantly. Steve came closer and sat on the bed, careful not to get too close. 

‘Okay?’ he said, looking at the weapons and then back at Bucky. Bucky pointed at him. ‘Mine? You wanna see the weapons I’ve got here?’ Bucky made a jerky nod.

Steve took him on the tour of weapons-hidden-in-my-apartment, and then watched as Bucky distributed his own weapons in various spots. When he was done, Bucky looked at him.

‘Um..,’ Steve said. ‘Good.’ Just then, the clock he had on the bookshelves near the door starting chirping two o’clock. ‘Oh, Bake Off is on. Do you wanna watch the television?’ he said, going to the sofa and picking up the remote. ‘There’s this one show I like called Bake Off, where all these British people compete to be the best amateur baker.’ He flicked through the channels till he found the right one and watched from the corner of his eyes as Bucky slowly moved towards the sofa and sat down beside him. 

They watched in silence. It was only towards the end that Bucky showed that he had been paying attention. Somebody dropped one of the layers of their lemon drizzle cake onto the floor and Bucky gasped. Steve bit his bottom lip, trying not to laugh or cry or say something stupid.

\-----

Steve was by the stove and seriously contemplating calling Sam, just to make sure he wasn’t going mad and that Bucky was really there, when Bucky threw the window open, reached into the night, and pulled a random guy over the sill. He glanced at Steve quickly before leaning over as the guy gargled and tried in vain to tear metal fingers from his neck.

‘Pochyemu ty zeds,’ Bucky said, his voice like sandpaper.

‘Nye dlya tevya,’ the man croaked, glancing at Steve. Bucky followed the glance, then, before Steve could blink, he had thrown the guy from the window. There was a resounding slap as the man hit the ground and then the blare of a car horn and tires screeching followed. Steve looked down at his own hands. One carried a spatula, the other a pot of dried basil. When he looked up, Bucky was back at the table as if nothing had happened. 

‘Was he Hydra?’ Steve asked. ‘Are they after you?’

Suddenly Bucky was breathing fast, his cheeks red, eyes on the table. 

‘Ugh,’ he croaked, ‘Huh, gugh.’ Tears were dripping from his eyes. ‘Steve I…I what.’ 

‘Bucky?’

Bucky’s head snapped up and Steve watched with dawning horror as the look of hurt and confusion faded from Bucky’s face.

‘Bucky?’ he said again. Bucky just stared, expression empty and lifeless. Steve quickly turned away and busied himself with his boiling pan of pasta sauce. What was he thinking? He darted over to the window and thrust his head through the gap. The street was empty. The man was gone. 

\-----

When it was bedtime, Steve led Bucky to the guestroom. 

‘Um…there are new sheets and…the bathroom’s just down there. And you know where I am so…well just wake me up if you want anything or…’

His heart hurt a little. He remembered standing in the middle of the empty bedroom of their new apartment as the dust fell through the sunbeams like snow and Bucky smiled that big smile of his. 

‘Best place in all of Brooklyn, I’m tellin’ ya,’ Bucky had said. 

Steve had looked at the stains on the walls, the way the door touched the end of one of the beds, the room being so small, the sound of neighbours banging pots together and the smell of soup drifting up through the floorboards.

‘Yeah,’ he’d said, grinning back.

‘Okay,’ Steve said. ‘Um…Goodnight.’ 

He fled to his room, leaving the door slightly ajar, and thunked down heavily onto the bed so that he could bury his face in his hands. He was angry at himself for being sad. His best friend was here, despite all the decades, despite fate and time and death, Bucky was here.

But then, should he even be happy about that? How could he be happy when for him to be here Bucky had to go through absolute hell. Seventy years of sleep vs. seventy years of torture. 

How the heck was he supposed to feel? 

He turned the light off and got into bed. 

\-----

He was just starting to drift off when he heard the slight creak of his bedroom door. Lying very still, he willed himself not to open his eyes. The bed dipped and Bucky got in beside him. It was not long before the warmth had lulled him to sleep. When he woke again it was still dark and Bucky was staring at the ceiling. His eyes followed the glow-in-the-dark stars that Steve had stuck there. He seemed to sense that Steve was awake because he opened his mouth and said: ‘You stopped following.’

‘I…,’ Steve breathed. He didn’t have the words to say what he felt, that he’d do anything for Bucky, that he would leave and never come back if it made Bucky happy. If Bucky told him he never wanted to see him again, he’d go. If Bucky told him to stay he’d stay forever.

‘I thought you wanted me to stop.’

He had seen him just once. Sam and Steve had been creeping through a Hydra house. Steve had opened a door and Bucky was there, on the window ledge. They had stared at each other. Then Bucky had jumped, gone. 

The blankets ruffled as Bucky raised his arm and covered Steve’s eyes with his hand. Then he moved his hand to Steve’s shoulder, leaned forward, and kissed him on the forehead. He shuffled down a little and then closed his eyes. It was a long time before Steve closed his own.

\-----

In the morning, Bucky was gone and somebody was knocking on the door. Steve stood between his bedroom and the kitchen. He breathed, stared at his feet. When he opened the door, Sam was there with a package full of pastries and a smile.

‘Hey man,’ he said, patting Steve on the shoulder and stepping inside. 

‘Hey,’ Steve said, though it came out as a whisper. Sam raised his eyebrows, dropping the pastries on the table and having a look in the fridge. He took out the orange juice and itched the side of his face. 

‘You okay?’

‘Yeah,’ Steve smiled. ‘How’s your Ma?’

Sam turned, taking down two glasses and pouring the orange juice. The front door smashed into the wall and Bucky stood on the threshold, face dark with blood and hair sticking to his cheeks. 

‘Jesus fucking Christ!’ Sam screamed, the glass slipping out of his fingers. Steve hurried over to Bucky. Bucky’s big blue eyes stared back at him. With his metal hand he pulled his t-shirt up.

‘Got a cut.’

Blood seeped from a deep gash across his chest. Steve grabbed his hand and took him to the bathroom, tipping out the contents of the cabinet in search for the first aid kit. Bucky sat on the bath. Sam hovered in the doorway. 

‘What the hell is happening,’ he was saying. ‘Steve, what the hell.’

Steve cleaned the cut and then pressed a cotton pad against it, sticking it down with tape. He soaked a cloth in water and started on Bucky’s face. There were no scratches. He checked his head, fingers brushing through his hair. The blood wasn’t his. 

They all took a moment to breathe.

‘Hungry?’ Steve asked. 

They all trudged into the kitchen and Steve picked up Sam’s bag of pastries.

‘Oh sure,’ Sam said. ‘No problem, help yourself.’

‘Didn’t you bring em for me?’

‘Yeah for you,’ Sam said, then quietly added, ‘Not him though.’

Bucky took a pan au raisin from Steve and shoved the entire thing in his mouth. 

‘When did this happen?’ Sam asked.

‘What?’

‘This,’ he said, gesturing between Steve and Bucky. Steve, inexplicably, felt his face grow hot.

He shrugged, looking away quickly, but Sam had seen. Steve could tell from the way his eyebrows were hiked up to his hairline. ‘He was…there, just. The other day I came home and he was there.’

Sam looked at Bucky as if for some other explanation. Bucky ignored him in favour of fishing another pastry from the bag. 

‘And the blood?’

It was Steve who looked at Bucky this time.

‘Bad men,’ Bucky said. 

‘Bad men,’ Steve said to Sam.

‘Bad men,’ Sam said flatly.

\-----

‘She shouldn’a spent so much time on that piping,’ Sam said. 

‘Style over substance,’ Steve agreed. 

They were squeezed on the sofa, all three of them, and waiting for Paul Hollywood to say what they knew to be true: ‘This is inedible.’

‘What did he say?’ Sam said.

‘Inedible.’

‘That accent,’ Sam said, shaking his head.

\-----

When Steve walked Sam to the door, Bucky was cleaning his knives in the sink.

Sam drew Steve’s attention with a hand on the shoulder. Steve braced himself.

‘Good to see you,’ Sam said. Steve smiled, surprised.

‘Yeah.’

‘Okay, I’m gonna go now,’ but he didn’t move. 

‘It’s okay, Sam. Really. I’m okay.’

Sam nodded.

‘I know,’ he scoffed, seemingly embarrassed. Then he turned and hurried down the hall. Steve chuckled as he closed the door. When he turned back, Bucky was looking at him.

‘Hey,’ Steve said. The sun was setting, the sky a dark blue, bathing the kitchen in soft, warm light. Insects hummed in the trees outside.

Sam knowing felt like a weight had been lifted. Steve couldn’t help but smile.

‘Tired,’ Bucky said, and took Steve’s hand. He led him to Steve’s bedroom but stopped on the threshold. ‘Night,’ he said, and shoved Steve inside, closing the door between them. Steve blinked into the gloom. He could hear the shuffling sounds of Bucky getting ready for bed next door. 

‘Okay…,’ he said. After a moment of staring at nothing he thought, Well, might as well go to bed then and stripped off, finding some sleep clothes and getting under covers. 

The stars had come out when the door creaked open and the mattress dipped. Bucky pulled the blankets over his shoulders and turned on his side. Steve rolled over.

‘How’s the cut?’ he whispered.

‘Gone.’

Steve nodded. Gashes and scrapes never lasted long for him either. 

‘That’s good,’ he said, blinking slowly. The warmth made his eyes heavy. 

‘Stevie,’ Bucky croaked. His eyes were wet. 

Steve felt like someone had punched him in the face. 

‘I wish I could…I wish I could,’ Bucky breathed and reached out, hands framing Steve’s face. His eyes were very wide. ‘I wish I could hang on.’  
Steve swallowed. 

‘I’m here, and then I go away. I don’t know where.’

His breathing was picking up. Steve pressed a hand against his shoulder. He felt like they were on a little boat in the middle of the sea during a storm. 

‘I know you,’ Bucky said.

‘You know me,’ he breathed.

‘I was in the mud, deep down. Soil was falling like rain. I had your letters in my hands. The ink was spilling everywhere. You said you were keeping busy and you were doing just fine. Fine and dandy, only missing you. Yours, Steve.’

Steve remembered. He had bitten his lip to ribbons over that last sentence before he’d signed his name and stuffed the letter in its envelope. He’d sealed it and shrugged and promised not to think on it again.

‘I remember,’ he said.

Bucky nodded, squeezed his eyes shut.

‘Don’t say my name okay. I’ll go away if you do.’

‘I won’t.’

‘I think…I think…no. I hear them knocking at the gate.’

‘Wha-’

‘They’re coming.’

‘Who?’

A shadow passed over Bucky’s eyelids. He was shaking.

‘The swans. Can’t you hear it. Louder. It’s getting louder. I tried so hard to stop it from coming inside but it never works. They always get me.’

Steve rubbed his hand back and forth over Bucky’s shoulder. It was like Bucky was laid up with fever. 

‘The sun’s so dark,’ Bucky was babbling now. ‘The swans keep dancing under the sun so dark and empty.’

He went stock still then. His eyes flickered open. There was nothing in them.

‘Buck?’

Bucky covered Steve’s eyes with his hand.

‘Sleep,’ he said. 

‘I ca-’

‘Gotta go,’ Bucky said. ‘No following.’ The bed groaned as Bucky got up and Steve forced himself not to look. If he did, he would follow, and Bucky had asked him not to.

\-----

Morning and Bucky had still not returned. Steve pressed his forehead to the table-top and tried to breath.

‘Oh look who’s here to see you,’ his Mama said. The flat was a mess as they were rushing to get ready for church. 

‘Hello Mrs Rogers,’ Bucky said from the open door, dressed in a new suit bought special for his confirmation. He was choosing the name Michael, because his own mother had told him to. Steve was a year too young, but had already chosen: Catherine, patron saint of artists. He would be a great artist someday.

‘Oh don’t you look handsome,’ Steve’s Ma said. 

‘Togged to the bricks, I am,’ Bucky laughed. ‘Whaddya think Steve?’

‘Uh.’

‘Doesn’t he look handsome, Steve?’

‘Yeah don’t I look handsome Steve?’

The door swung open and Steve’s stool clattered to the floor. He wasn’t covered in blood this time, but he had a terrible bruise on the side of his face.

‘Shit,’ Steve said, and rushed to the fridge. He took out a bag of peas and wrapped them in a dishtowel. ‘Buck,’ he said. 

Bucky trudged over to him and waited expectantly. Steve huffed a smile and pressed the peas to Bucky’s jaw. 

‘Wish you’d let me come with you,’ he said.

‘Can’t,’ Bucky said, matter of fact. ‘Need to protect you.’

‘I can protect me. I can protect both of us.’

‘I know baby, but I gotta do this myself.’

\----

That was the first time it happened, but it kept happening after that. One minute Bucky would be half empty, his silent self, blank faced and still like he wasn’t all there. Then he’d come out with something that was so patented Bucky Barnes it would knock Steve back seventy years and he’d be left breathless and gawping like an idiot. 

‘You guys need to get out,’ Sam was saying, hands on hips and a stern expression on his face. ‘You’re becoming hermits, and I don’t mean the cool, decapod crustacean of the superfamily Paguroidea type. I’m talking the beardy, axe-wielding, yellow fingernailed type.’

Steve squinted. Sam knew a lot about sea life.

‘I shaved this morning,’ he said. 

Bucky ran a hand over his own stubble. 

‘I don’t think I ever touched an axe,’ Steve said.

‘The beard is metaphorical,’ said Sam

Bucky inspected the nails on his right hand.

‘Look, lets just go out. We could go for a picnic. We could go to Coney Island.’

‘Bad idea,’ Bucky said. Sam visibly jumped at the sound. 

‘W-why’s that?’

Steve rolled his eyes.

‘Steve’ll throw up.’

‘Okay,’ Steve scoffed. ‘That only happened like…five times. And I didn’t just throw up outta nowhere.’

‘Told yer not to eat all those hot dogs.’

‘You said I couldn’t eat them not that I shouldn’t!’

It had been blisteringly hot and the wind was whipping up the sand. His nose was red from the sun and Bucky’s shirt was open, his sweaty hair in his eyes and one of his eyebrows hiked up. 

‘You can’t eat all those, Stevie.’

‘The hell I can’t!’ he’d screamed. 

‘Alright,’ Sam cut in. ‘I think Steve can control himself for one day.’

‘Oh for-’

‘Get ready. We’ll stop at the shops on the way and stock up okay.’ Sam watched them expectantly. ‘Go go!’ 

\-----

Sam had bought a travel rug.

‘It’s awesome,’ Sam said as he laid it onto the sand. ‘It folds up into a bag.’

Bucky had wandered to the water’s edge. Steve tried not to stare. Deep down he wanted nothing more than to wrap Bucky in blankets and cotton wool and make sure nothing bad ever happened to him ever again, but Sam was right, they needed to get out. And it was good. Good to feel normal.

Steve wondered if this was how Bucky had felt, watching five foot four skin and bone Stevie ready to fight the whole world.

‘Look,’ Sam said, holding up a splotchy coloured shell. ‘Calico scallop.’

The clouds slipped over the sky and Bucky looked dazzlingly bright, smiling as a trail of kids ran past screaming and giggling and reaching for each other’s skirts and pig-tails. 

‘He’s doing better,’ Sam said. 

‘Yeah,’ Steve said.

Sam punched his shoulder. 

‘You’re doing really well.’

Steve blinked at him. Sam nodded.

‘I’m right okay,’ he said. ‘I was…concerned. That’s a whole lotta crazy in one apartment you know. But you’re good with him. And he’s…he’s good with you.’

At Steve’s expression, he continued. ‘You looked dead, man. You looked like you were just white-knuckling your way through life. After that time in Austria I was thinking I am in way over my head, this is bad, this isn’t gonna end well. But now,’ he looked out to the sea. ‘Now you look like you’re here.’

Those words, I’m here and then I go away. I don’t know where, flashed in Steve’s mind.

‘Is it bad,’ Steve said, ‘That I’m…I’m happy about all this. It’s…’

‘No,’ Sam said, before he could go on. ‘No. Hell I know if it was Riley…well.’ He shook his head. ‘I know what you’re saying but no. It’s not bad. People make each other happy. People save each other, teach each other, lean on each other. That’s just how it works.’

Bucky flopped down beside him. ‘You want ice-cream?’ he said. 

‘Sure thing!’ said Sam, jumping up. ‘I’ll get it.’ 

Bucky lay down, head pillowed by his arms. The sun was in his eyes. His irises looked like jewels.

‘Hey Buck uhm…are you…do you. I mean, cause I…it’s.’ He gave up.

‘Was I meant to understand that?’

Steve laughed, shook his head.

When Sam returned, Bucky said ‘Thanks birdboy’ and devoured his strawberry ice-cream in two bites.

\----

That night, Bucky did not go to the guestroom as he had done every night before. He lay down on Steve’s bed, rolling onto his side, and followed Steve with his eyes as Steve made his way round the room.

‘Know why I came here?’ he said when Steve’s head hit the pillow. Steve shook his head.

‘Cause I missed yer.’

Steve felt his grin cutting into his cheeks.

‘You did?’

‘I was sad. And tired. My brain hurt from pretending I didn’t know you. I didn’t want it to be true cause it was too sad.’

He reached up and pressed a hand to Steve’s chest.

‘But I was sad without you anyway. I didn’t understand it…loving someone really hurts when your brain is scrambled egg.’

Steve breathed out. Bucky laughed.

‘I remembered your Ma, and the sun through the window of our apartment, and the weight of the pillows as I carried them to the living room floor cause you used to stay over, before it was just you and me…and…and I remember I always loved you. Since back when I met you, since always.’

A breeze rushed through the window, cooling Steve’s hot skin.

‘They told me you were dead,’ Bucky whispered. He moved his hand to dry Steve’s cheeks. ‘I didn’t believe it, so they got rid of you. They got rid of me.’  
‘I’m here,’ Steve said, insensible, birds wings were fluttering inside his chest.

‘Hey,’ Bucky said. ‘Me too.’

They laughed, foreheads touching.

‘And I remembered the most important thing.’

‘What’s that?’ Steve said.

‘That you’re a big blonde idiot who needs protecting.’

Steve raised his hands, smiling.

‘I can protect me! I can protect both of us!’

Bucky grinned.

‘I know baby, but I wanna do it too.’

**Author's Note:**

> The Russian:
> 
> Buck: Why are you here?  
> Hydra-man: Not for you.
> 
> Thank you for reading. Please do comment!
> 
> P.S there is a blink and you miss it Macbeth reference for no reason


End file.
